The microwave ticked softly, the faint whir filling the pauses between words.
Felix leaned against the counter, arms loosely folded, his eyes on the glowing numbers.
Victor shifted closer, sliding onto a stool at the island with an ease that spoke of someone who had never been told no.
He drummed his fingers idly before flashing that irreverent grin.
"You know," he drawled, "all this talk about food has me realizing—I'm hungry too."
Felix glanced at him, expression calm, almost unreadable. "There's plenty in the fridge."
Victor tilted his head, chains at his throat catching the light as he leaned in. "I could get it myself. But…" His smile sharpened, playful. "Wouldn't it taste better if you joined me?"
For a moment, Felix just studied him, the hum of the microwave grounding the silence.
Then he shook his head gently. "Matteo's waiting for me upstairs."
Victor sighed with exaggerated disappointment, throwing his hands up. "Always Matteo, hm?"
